Diabhal Péinteáilte
by sbyamibakura
Summary: The Demon(Balor)/Finn Balor, Set Post Brand Split, post-Summerslam 2016, the Raw after and months following. The eyes were an almost indescribable orange; as if made of flame itself. They terrified him as much as he always found himself utterly drawn to them. *It* had been apart of his life since he could literally remember anything. Part One of Devil.


Diabhal Péinteáilte

By: PhoenixJustice

Disclaimer: The wrestlers own themselves, the gimmicks are owned by WWE. I only own this story and make no profit from this.

Warning: slash, handjobs, etc.

Pairing: The Demon(Balor)/Finn Balor.

Setting: Post Brand Split, post-Summerslam 2016, the Raw after and months following.

Summary: The eyes were an almost indescribable orange; as if made of flame itself. They terrified him as much as he always found himself utterly drawn to them. **It** had been apart of his life since he could literally remember anything.

 _Italics for thoughts and/or Finn speaking to The Demon/Balor._

 _ **Bold italics for flashbacks.**_

 **Bold speak - The Demon/Balor**

A/N: Mo daonna (Irish) - my human

Part One of _Devil_.

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He is startled from his near doze by a knock at his door and he looks at it confused for a moment; none of the nurses or doctors knocked on the door and he had stated specifically to his friends that he wanted to vistors (while he was thankful for the wellwishes, he both wanted them to be able to focus on their wrestling as well as, well...the latter thought was not to be thought about. Darker, less _him_ and more **him**. Best to focus on something else.)

"Uh...come in?" He says hesitantly, already doing his best to sit up in his bed, wincing at the pain that shoots through him as he does so. The surgery had went perfectly, so said the surgeon; along with a long nasty looking gash that was just starting to resemble something less- **battle scarred**. **Proof of our determination, triumph over the pretty boy** , a non-voice voice whispers almost seductively to him. He ignores it.

He is surprised to see it's Shinsuke Nakamura who walks through the door. And not because they were enemies. No, they were certainly friends, had been for many years now, but he had thought he'd been clear when telling everyone not to check up on him. And the man was certainly looking less-colorful than usual; he wore a similar looking outfit like he had when he and Joe had been interviewed, though these colors were much more muted, being a gray and silver colored shirt and gray pants.

"Shinsuke- _san_ ," he says, surprised. "What're you doing here?"

Shinsuke merely smiles slightly at him, before walking into the room further, grabbing one of the stools and sitting on it. He looks up, appearing thoughtful, lips pursed, before turning his eyes to Finn. "Ahh. Well, I wanted to make sure you were alright."

Finn raises a brow. "I appreciate the look after, truly, but do you even have the time to _be_ here right now? You're the new NXT Champion." He feels only a slight pang of envy, only slight; a title which had once been his and one he had held onto with all his might, but then...there...at a house show of all things- **I told you to bring me to that match** -one, two, three and it slipped out of his fingers, just like that. And no matter how much he had tried after, he couldn't get it back. Even with the paint on, it hadn't been enough.

 **Because you kept me leashed, mo daonna** , the voice whispers again, feeling like it was almost against his ear. **Unleash my eye and you are unstoppable. You know this. Ignore me, deny my existence, but that will never change what I am and what** _ **you**_ **are, mo daonna.**

He shakes this off again, though it is slightly harder this time. Yet another reason why he loathed being laid up; it made it much harder to ignore **Its** voice. But he pushes hard, pushing it far away from his thoughts. **It** was for the night-and only when Finn called upon it. He would not-could not-allow anything different. He looks at Shinsuke to see the man looking at him with an unreadable look in his face, before it breaks into a smile in his eyes (a look he often saw in the man's gaze.)

"You don't mind the company, do you?" Shinsuke asks him.

He pauses. He was thankful that he had such caring friends as Shinsuke (even if he had tried to keep them away. Shinsuke could be rather stubborn about certain things though; he knew that well from experience, from all the years he had known him now.)

He can all but feel **It's** breath upon his back, mouth against his ear. He swallows. He had felt the call of **It** for longer than he wanted to think about.

 **Calling me an It to keep me at bay, mo daonna? You know perfectly well what I am, It** purrs. **I am-**

Finn starts as he feels a strong grip on his hand and opens his eyes (when had he closed them?) to look at Shinsuke, his brows furrowed as he looked at Finn.

He starts to speak, but hesitates, his eyes glance at the dark shape he couldn't make out that stood behind Shinsuke now. He couldn't make out **Its** form, but he knew what it was. Could imagine **Its** bright orange eyes, staring, burrowing, deep into him. He also knew, glancing back at Shinsuke, that he couldn't take the chance to speak to him, not now, not any further. Being as injured as he was, there was a good chance that he couldn't keep the Demon at bay.

He pats Shinsuke's hand the best he can, trying to muster up the best smile he can.

"It's alright, Shinsuke- _san_ ," He says, not exactly looking him in the eyes. "I'll be fine from here. I just-I need some time by myself to rest."

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 **Ahh, how noble of you, mo doanna. Do you really care for him that much?**

He instantly flushes at the insinuation. _He is my_ _ **friend**_ _._

He can hear the laughter of **It** as clearly as if **It** had been right next to him.

 **You are always so very amusing to me, mo doanna. You continue to deny me at your own folly.**

He tries to ignore **It** with little success. **It** , the **Demon** , had been something he had been aware of from since he was little. **It** went by many names; **Béimnech** , **Balcbéimnech, Birugderc**...all names that tied to one name in particular.

 **It** had called itself many things; **Demon, Seducer, God**...

Even if he hadn't been so intrisically tied to **It** as he was, he'd still be able to feel that power coming from **It**. His birth had apparently been heralded by the first appearance of **It** in Ireland in over three hundred years.

 _ **He is mine. His fate is mine.**_ **It** tells his parents, the others in the house, a bodiless voice, yet still full of a power they all can only bow their heads to (so they tell him later, when he is much older.). _**Expect me upon his birth. I will make myself known.**_

They said at his birth, a giant orange eye blinks itself into existence upon his back, looking around briefly, before disappearing. It hadn't been seen since. But from that day forward, he had been utterly tied to **It**. Though (as he often thought when he had a lot of down time alone) why **It** would want to be tied to _him_ , he could scarcely figure out the reason why.

 _You have me. Leave others out of it._

He looks up to see **It** pause in **Its** stride and it surprises him. **It** didn't often manifest **Itself** in any fashion (he felt like it took some of **Its** hard fought energy. The more he resisted against **It** , it seemed to weaken **It** , if only for a little while.) He can only see, as he always does, a form of blackness, the barest hints of shapes to define a body (despite calling **It** an **It** he always thought of **It** as a male in his mind; the voice sounded very much a male voice to him.)

Everything black except for where the eyes should be. The eyes were an almost indescribable orange; as if made of flame itself. They terrified him as much as he always found himself utterly drawn to them. **It** had been apart of his life since he could literally remember anything. Had been his playmate before he knew to be afraid, then his mocking companion when he would lock him away as far as he could go ( **You say you don't need me, mo doanna, yet you still cling to your rituals of paints, of calling upon** _ **my**_ **Eye in battle!** )

"Why are you so impatient?" He asks, too surprised to form his question mentally as he would normally have, when he would actually acknowledge **It**.

 **It** turns to look at him and he shivers when those eyes pierce through him, as they always did. **It** strides forward and he has to hold back another shiver as **It** approaches him, nearly flinching as **It** comes to stand directly in front of him, leaning down to look Finn closer in the face. He cannot see the rest of **Its** face, as always, but the eyes strike deeply into him, into the deepest parts of himself.

He swallows hard and finds himself unable to look away.

 **You are in pain, weak. It** says, looking at him with unblinking eyes.

He grits his teeth, looking away. The pain _was_ great. As always, **It** knew much more about him than he wanted **It** to.

"It doesn't matter."

 **Its** eyes widen and he can hear **It** laugh, loudly, wincing at the sharpness of the tone.

 **You are always so very amusing, mo doanna. You deny yourself once again, when you could be healed of this pain already. No pain, no rehabbing. If you would just** _ **accept**_ **m-**

"Enough!" He exclaims, swallowing hard against the sudden lump in his throat, his heart beating in a staccato beat. The words **It** was saying wasn't scaring him; they were doing the opposite (and that was what scared him.) He coughs. " _Enough_. Leave me be."

He lets out a sound, utterly startled when **It** touches him, a blackness holding his chin, forcing him to look into **Its** flame licked eyes. **It** had never touched him before, ever. All he can do is stare into **Its** eyes, stunned.

 **The day will come, mo doanna, sooner than you think. When you will need me. When you will call for me. You will call my** _ **name**_ **. But it will be up to me if I** _ **accept**_ **.**

And he is gone.

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The first few weeks and months of the rehabbing go as well as Finn could have hoped for. He deals with the pain, yes, but at first all he really feels is relief, as **It** hadn't bothered him for weeks (he didn't even feel that electric feeling that would sometimes race upon his skin, letting him know that **It** had arrived.)

He focuses on getting better, so he can get back into the Ring, his most beloved and favorite place, all the sooner. The time goes by quickly then; boistered as he was by the feeling that he could prove them all wrong and come back sooner than intended, working hard in rehabbing himself. Spending time with his Legos on his downtime, creating wonderous things, utilizing his creativity to its fullest.

It works for months. And then it...doesn't. The initial enthusiasm he has in the beginning starts to dim and fade when he only sees minimal progress (despite the doctors saying his progress was pretty good) and soon the days of rehabbing become a chore and a pain, only serving to remind him of what he was _still_ away from. Reminding him of what he could not currently do, no matter how much he wanted to. Wrestling had been his life since he was eighteen years old and it was all he had ever wanted, all he had ever wanted to be.

He had never let anything, not even **It** get in his way when it came to becoming a professional wrestler (though... **It** had actually seemed _pleased_ when he told his parents he wanted to be a wrestler.) And now here was...stuck. Forced to watch from the sidelines as _his_ title is won by Kevin Owens, as others who are not _him_ fight over it. Running their hands all over what _he_ fought so hard for-!

He wrenches his eyes closed, rubbing at his face. The isolation was getting to him (due in part to himself, he knew. He had kept pushing people away recently, snapping more often, keeping more to himself than he normally would have.) He pushes aside the half completed Lego he was working on, leaning back against his chair, letting out a deep breath.

He doesn't know how long he sits there, but eventually he opens his eyes and frowns. He had expected...what had he expected? The room was as empty, save for him, as it had been moments earlier. He doesn't feel that tell-tale sign of electricity, nor does he hear **Its** voice anywhere either.

He is alone. Completely and utterly alone.

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He hits the wall, just barely keeping from hitting the bathroom mirror. All he can do is look at his reflection in the mirror in despair. In the background, the voicemail on his phone continues to go off.

Beep. " _Finn, it's dad; call us soon?"_

Beep. _"Finn, your dad called you; did you get it? We worry about you. Please call us!"_

Beep. " _Finn. It is Shinsuke. I haven't heard from you in a long time. Are you well? Please call me whenever you get the chance."_

Beep. _"Finn, can you-"_

Beep. " _Finn-"_

Beep. _"Finn!"_

Beep beep beep!

He strides into his bedroom, grabbing onto the phone.

"Shut up, shut up, shut up!" He cries out, tossing the phone across the room. He slides down the wall, arms on his raised knees, rubbing at his face.

 **I told you, mo doanna, didn't I?**

He jerks his head up, eyes filled with anger and tears. "You!" His face wrenches in pain. "Are you happy, you Demon? Doing this to me?"

The dark form doesn't respond to that. Instead **It** moves forward and grabs him, pulling him up with complete ease with one hand, keeping him up against the wall.

 **I have done nothing, mo doanna. Isn't that what you've wanted all this time?**

He tries to protest, but **It** pushes him a bit harder against the wall and he can feel the strength in **Its** hand alone, a strength greater than he or anyone else he had seen. **It** holds him there with ease and he stops struggling against **It**.

"You've..." He whispers.

 **I have done nothing. I have left you alone all this time.**

He can feel the ring of truth in **Its** words and it leaves him shaken, for many reasons. All these turbulent emotions these past few months were from _himself_ ; not from **It** __or anything or anyone else. It was him. It hits him then that he has _missed_ **Its** presence; he had never been without it.

And more than that...

He didn't want to be alone anymore.

He moves his head up and he sees **Its** eyes widen as **It** looks at him, at the expression in his eyes.

"Finn."

He jumps, startled, at the voice coming from **Its** lips. It was coming from **Its** _mouth_. It _had_ a mouth. As he continues to stare at **It** , something amazing happens. The almost smoky blackness starts to disappate from **Its** head, revealing a man, a little younger than Finn, with a full mouth, a straight nose, slightly tanned skin and the hair...the hair instantly, _instantly_ , reminds him of the headpieces he would always wear during Takeover's and PPV, when he would apply the paint and become the Demon. The hair is the darkest of blacks, with streaks of red here and there, like blood.

And the eyes...they were **Its** eyes. Orange like flame, only this time they seemed to be burning brighter than he had ever seen them.

 **It** moves **Its** hand from where it had been holding him in place at the shoulder and comes to rest on the side of his face. The moment it touches his face, **Its** __arms explode, the black exploding in a flash, leaving only tanned, lithe looking, arms. **Its** hand is large and warm and he can't help but let out a low sound as **It** cups his face.

"Finn." **It** says again. **It** had never called him by name before, ever. Not in all the years **It** had been apart of him.

"Stop." He whispers. "Stop."

"Finn." **Its** voice was low and it causes him to shiver violently, **Its** hand caressing his face.

"Please." He says, huntedly. Though what he was pleading for, even _he_ couldn't say. " _Please_."

"Finn." **It** whispers, leaning in.

 **It** kisses him and he is shattered. He lets out a keening sound, unable to stop himself, his hands find purchase on **Its** shoulders, pulling him closer. **It** kisses him hard and deeply, all but devouring his mouth and all he can do is kiss back, groaning against **It** as **It** rubs against him, feeling his growing erection pushing and rubbing against **Its** own.

"No." **It** says quietly against his mouth. **It** runs **Its** tongue over his now wet lips and into his mouth before pulling away again. "You can do better than that."

He shakes; somehow he knew what **It** meant, without **It** having to elaborate. He cries out when **Its** hand move into his pants, rubbing a warm hand against his cock.

"Please." He says again. "Please."

"Finn." **It** moves **Its** mouth down his neck now, biting and licking and sucking on it and he knows there will be a large bruise there later that he will somehow have to explain and the thought of it is enough to make his head spin with it all.

All too abruptly **It** moves from his neck and he can see the anger in **Its** eyes.

He swallows, licking his lips, trying not to react too much, show too much on his face, as **It** opens up his pants, freeing his erection. He knew why **It** was angry.

" _Say it."_ **It**...no, _he_ demands. He looks at Finn.

" _Balor."_ He whispers.

He kisses Finn again, harder this time and he cries out against his mouth as it only takes a couple of strokes for him to come, shuddering violently as Balor holds him close, kissing his mouth as if he is starved for it.

Eventually he stops shuddering and he opens his eyes, to see Balor staring at him with an open hunger that leaves him breathless.

"Why?" He asks him, quietly.

His eyes go from Finn's mouth briefly back to him, the look in his eyes one that Finn cannot read.

"Why, indeed."

And just like that, he is gone. Finn stays like he was against the wall for a few minutes, letting himself get his breath back, before buttoning himself back up, laying onto the bed with a heavy breath. His head turns to look out the open window, looking at the dark night sky, heavy with stars.

"Why indeed..." He murmurs.

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I hope you enjoyed this!

Let me know what you thought!

-PhoenixJustice


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